


when i was shipwrecked

by jamesstruttingpotter



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, kind of a gilmore girls AU but like truly a zero effort version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesstruttingpotter/pseuds/jamesstruttingpotter
Summary: “No more,” Zuko says. It almost comes out stern. “I mean it, Katara. That’s your fifth cup.”“It’s justcoffee,” she replies.“Yeah, and you’re going to have a heart attack from caffeine overdose. I’m going to cut you off one of these days.”“I’d like to see you try.”The bell over the front door tinkles behind her. Zuko swings a dishcloth over his shoulder. “I’m kicking you out as soon as I get Mrs. Kang’s order.”Katara sticks her tongue out at his retreating back.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 141





	when i was shipwrecked

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!

Logistically, Katara knows she doesn’t _have_ to go to the diner every morning. She’s got a perfectly good kitchen at home, equipped with a fully functional stove, refrigerator, and coffee machine. She’s also a pretty good cook, if she does say so herself, and usually frugal enough to power through what seems to be her natural dislike of cooking. When it comes to lunch and dinner, she almost never eats out.

She also knows for a fact that there’s nothing objectively special about the diner’s food. She’s been living in Stars Hollow for her whole life. When she was growing up, the diner had been the local default, taken for granted as the one place that stayed open late enough for group study sessions, post-school dance debriefs, and once, memorably, a fist fight that Suki had won handily. Through it all, grumpy Mr. Li had served up rubbery pancakes and nearly-burnt coffee alongside chicken-fried steak and disco fries. Not once had Katara actually gone in order to eat the food. It had always been an afterthought, something to do with your hands while you gossiped and laughed and cried about whatever it was sixteen year olds cared about.

Then Mr. Li had retired. The diner had stood dark and closed for a couple years before someone had bought it, someone who had never lived in Stars Hollow before.

“A _stranger_ ,” Aunt Wu had said, accosting Katara in the town square. Behind her shoulder, the lights had flickered on in the small apartment above the diner, a dark figure obscured by the blinds. “Perhaps fortuitous. I’d have to read his charts to know for sure.”

It had taken a few more months for Katara to swing by, and even then, it’d been mostly driven by desperation. “Anything caffeinated,” she’d said, before looking up to see the only unfamiliar face in town. 

And now, well—

“No more,” Zuko says. It almost comes out stern. “I mean it, Katara. That’s your fifth cup.”

“It’s just _coffee_ ,” she replies. 

“Yeah, and you’re going to have a heart attack from caffeine overdose. I’m going to cut you off one of these days.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

The bell over the front door tinkles behind her. Zuko swings a dishcloth over his shoulder. “I’m kicking you out as soon as I get Mrs. Kang’s order.”

Katara sticks her tongue out at his retreating back. She’s sitting in her usual seat at the tiny countertop, elbow nearly brushing the muffin display case. The tables behind her are populated with the usual characters: a few of their more elderly townspeople, a couple harried high schoolers grabbing breakfast before homeroom, a small gaggle of young moms keeping watch over their toddlers.

The sun’s barely risen. It sends crisp orange light through the wide glass windows to her left. She drums her fingers on the countertop and reaches over to grab a box of tea leaves tucked behind a crowd of spice jars.

“And now you’re going through my stuff,” he says a few minutes later, rounding the counter. Mrs. Kang, seventy-six and dependable as anything, will have ordered an omelette with orange juice. He goes to pull eggs out from the fridge. 

“This has less caffeine than coffee, why don’t we compromise on this?”

“I don’t serve that,” he says, and it’s terser than normal.

Katara frowns. “Are you okay?”

His shoulders tense for a second before he closes the fridge door to face her. “Fine,” he mutters. “Sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you.”

“What’s going on?”

“Shouldn’t you get to work?” he asks, half-hearted.

She waves a hand. “First patient isn’t coming in until 9. You okay?”

Zuko sighs. He grabs a bowl and starts cracking eggs into it. She waits. “My sister’s visiting,” he says finally, adding milk and mushrooms to the bowl. 

Katara feels her eyebrows raise. “Your sister? The one who has basically mistreated you your whole life then told you you’d imagined everything? That sister?”

His face does something complicated before he turns away again to work the grill top. “I wouldn’t put it like that,” he says.

“Agree to disagree,” she mutters. Louder, she adds, “What’s she coming here for?”

He shrugs, one-shouldered. “Some stuff with the will,” he says over the sound of eggs sizzling. 

Katara bites her lip. It’s been a month since his father died and Zuko still hasn’t expressed any sentiments about it other than bland acceptance. She’s not eager to provoke anything deeper from him while the diner’s full. 

“Are you—I mean, I thought that was pretty much settled.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Azula had originally lied about me getting nothing.” He flips the omelette. “She wouldn’t say much over the phone. Her secretary, I mean. All I know is that she’s visiting and it won’t be a long stay. Which is—probably for the best.”

“Hm.” Katara watches him roll up the omelette and deposit it on a broad plate. Then it’s back to the fridge for the orange juice jug. “So, what do you need?”

He tops off the juice glass. “What?”

“From us. What do you want us to do?”

He frowns. “Nothing?”

“Zuko.”

He picks up the plate and glass. “Just—give me a second.” He drops the order off at Mrs. Kang’s table; Katara can hear her telling him how wonderful the food looks. He returns with a slight flush to his cheeks. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You know, like emotional support? Maybe distracting her so she’s less horrible? I’m sure Toph would kick her ass the second she crosses the town limits if that’s what you’re looking for.”

He busies himself with wiping down an invisible stain on the counter. She still catches the ghost of a smile. “I don’t think the ass-kicking would be the right message to send.”

“Well, Toph will be disappointed.”

“Please don’t even float the idea to her.”

Katara snorts. “Okay, fair.” She watches him putter around. “Look, you don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know.” 

“I mean it.”

“I know,” he repeats, meeting her gaze. “I… appreciate it.”

“Okay,” she says. She checks her phone. “I gotta go.” She drains the rest of her coffee mug to Zuko’s _tsk_ of disapproval. “Text me later.”

“Put that twenty back in your wallet.”

“You gotta let me pay for something _some time_.”

“You only had coffee today, that’s like five dollars, max.”

“This is to make up for the muffins I had earlier this week.”

“Just get out.”

Sokka texts her a couple hours later. _Code red huh?_

She checks the time. It’s almost noon, which means he’s on his free period between his chem sophomores and physics seniors. Old Piandao had nearly cried with relief when Sokka breezed back into Stars Hollow High, dual degrees and teaching license in hand. Instead, he’d set him up with an immediate tenure-track spot, plus the coaching position of the varsity swim team. Sokka will still occasionally send her pictures of her old championship plaque stashed in random places around the building.

She texts back, _I think he doesn’t know what to think yet_

_U know it cant be anything good_

She sighs. A few seconds later, her phone buzzes again. _Think we should all go out tonight? And by go out I mean force ourselves into the diner after it closes to drink his beer_

 _Maybe_ , she replies. _I was thinking he might just need us to be there for him_

 _Well youd know best,_ says Sokka, and she realizes with a jolt that that’s true.

The thought lurks in the back of her mind as she runs through her next few appointments. It’s been a couple years since she took over the small general practice here in town, enough time to give her at least a passing familiarity with near everyone’s medical conditions. She assures Mr. Xian, who used to watch her and Sokka sometimes when their dad had to work late, that his cough is nothing serious, then sees a couple former classmates come in with their babies for annual check-ups. 

Her last patient for the day is a surprise: Suki walks in with a concerned teenager who’s got a tight grip on her elbow. “I accidentally knocked her into a table,” the girl says, panic writ large on her face, and Suki gives her a clumsy pat on the back as she sits down. 

“It was a great hit,” she says, eyes squeezed shut. “Just checking for a concussion, Katara. I feel okay, though.”

“I’m so sorry,” says the girl, wringing her hands.

“Oh, you’ve been around the dojo long enough to know this stuff happens,” Suki replies dismissively. Katara clucks her tongue but refrains from comment. “Why don’t you head back and make sure the younger girls get picked up by their parents.”

The teenager leaves with one last apologetic glance. Katara takes a careful look at the back of Suki’s skull. “No scrapes or bleeding,” she says. “I wish you’d be more careful with your demonstrations.”

“Yeah, I’ll move that table. I’m not feeling dizzy or anything.”

“Good. Open your eyes—any sensitivity to light?”

“Nope. Got any Advil?”

Katara rummages around her desk drawer. “Let me get a glass of water.”

“Nah.” Suki pops it back dry. 

“I don’t know how you do that.”

“Lots of practice.” She fixes her with a penetrating glance, a sudden role reversal. “So, the sister?”

Katara feels a wry grin tug at her lips. She remembers a lot of things about med school fondly, but one of the top things has to be how little a big city cared about her and her affairs. It’s sometimes inexplicable just how fast news will spread around Stars Hollow, population 1,000. This trail is at least easy to follow. “Sokka text you already, huh?”

“As soon as the final bell rang. You getting breakfast at the diner tomorrow?”

“Probably.”

“Okay, we’ll see you there.”

“What, everyone?”

“I was thinking so, yeah. Should we not?” Her brows draw tight together. “What do you think?”

Over the course of Katara’s 30 years on earth, it’s become abundantly clear that both Suki and Sokka can’t help their uncanny urge to flock toward those who might need their help. Fighting this urge is usually as successful as fighting gravity. She thinks about the tense set of Zuko’s shoulders this morning, the brittle edge in his voice he’d tried to smooth over, and acquiesces.

Accordingly, she steps into the diner the next morning at 7 o’clock sharp to find the gang already assembled in a corner booth. Toph and Sokka are slumped over the table’s surface, half-asleep with hands clutched around mugs of coffee. Suki’s got her planner and a pen out and looks to be reviewing a to-do list. Zuko, a suspicious look plastered across his face, is listening to Aang’s enthused explanation of his latest community gardens project.

“Did you do this?” he mutters to her as she elbows Sokka aside to sit.

“Nope,” she replies. “Coffee, please.”

“Will you at least eat something with it?”

“Will you let me pay for it?”

The aggrieved glint in his eyes sharpens. She smiles, bright, and he turns away with a grumble.

“Why,” demands Toph, muffled, “are we here at the ass-crack of dawn?”

“Sokka’s first period starts at 7:30, so this was the only time we could all be together,” says Aang. “How are you, Katara?”

“I’m okay, thanks. It’s getting colder, huh?”

“Yeah, I might have to break out my thick jacket soon.”

“Well, I’m so glad I’m not missing out on this _scintillating_ conversation,” mutters Toph. Zuko returns with a steaming pot of coffee. “Over here, Sparky.”

“Oh, this is all for Katara,” he says, putting a mug down in front of her.

“A special pot all for her, huh?” says Toph, waking up enough to shoot them a sharp-edged grin.

Katara feels her face flush. Zuko shakes his head. “It’s more like I’m enabling a serious addiction.”

“What are friends for, right?” she says, taking a long sip.

Suki prods Sokka in between the ribs. He straightens with a yelp. “I’m awake! I’m awake.” He clears his throat. “Zuko, darling?”

“What?”

“Could you lovingly prepare for me a bacon and ham omelette so I don’t text Suki a thousand times at 10am complaining about how hungry I am?”

“Uh, I can _normal_ prepare for you a bacon and ham omelette, sure.”

“You can’t leave out the _love,_ it’s the special ingredient!”

“It’s my diner and I’ll do what I want.”

“Well! I _will_ be leaving a one-star review on Yelp, you mark my words!”

“How do you perk up so quickly after drooling on my table?” asks Zuko, but Katara sees a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth as he turns back to the grill.

Aang leans in a little closer once he’s gone. “So when is his sister getting here?”

“Unclear,” says Katara. “I guess he’d be a lot tenser if it was soon.”

“Hard to see how he could be _even more_ tense.”

“You know our Zuko,” says Sokka. “There’s always another layer of angst ready to be unveiled.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” asks Toph. “Can we kick her ass?”

Katara grimaces. “Unfortunately, he’s preemptively said no to that idea.”

“Can we kick her ass _verbally_?”

“There will be no ass-kicking, verbal or otherwise, until we confirm she really deserves it,” says Suki. “We’ll just be there for him in case he needs us. Maybe we can stagger shifts so he doesn’t have to be alone with her.”

“Won’t that be really obvious?” Aang asks.

“I don’t think that matters. If anything, he probably won’t notice we’re supporting him unless we’re really obvious about it.” Katara shakes her head. “Clueless.”

“Yeah, _he’s_ the clueless one,” mutters Toph. Suki elbows her. “Ouch, keep those things to yourself!”

“Can you guys not cause a commotion in the middle of my diner,” Zuko says, returning with a laden tray. “Omelette. Granola for Aang and Suki. Katara, please eat this fucking muffin. What are you all arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” they chorus. 

“Can we come by on Friday night to drink all your beer?” says Toph. 

Zuko squints. “You’re going to come even if I say no.”

“Well, yeah. But sometimes it’s nice to pretend we have manners. Hey, maybe Katara can beat you at shotgunning again.”

“Thanks, Jet,” says Sokka, and Katara scowls at all of them as they laugh.

(Shotgunning a beer cleanly and quickly is, arguably, the only positive thing Katara took out of her relationship with Jet, since it’s pretty much undisputed that he had been her worst romantic relationship. It’d been brief, sure, but over a decade later, it’s still highly embarrassing to remember. It wasn’t that he had been a bad person—although he was, sometimes—but rather, that he’d produced in her a jumpy, near-defensive need to please.

After lots of late night discussions with Suki and sometimes Toph, when the latter could stomach it, she’s come to the conclusion that it was mostly because he seemed so _smart_. She’d been eighteen and naive, ready to meet a cute college boy and go steady, and he’d been right there, in the political science class she’d taken to fulfill a core requirement, shooting his mouth off about neocolonialism and its impacts on the working class. After a few months of Sokka visibly biting his tongue during every conversation with him and a few more months of fumbling around ineffectually in a narrow dorm bed, Jet had finally pulled her aside to tell her their values “didn’t align” well enough to justify continuing their relationship.

“I don’t think that’s true,” she’d said, and he’d given her a patronizing look before telling her she couldn’t change his mind.

And that had been that.)

She walks into Chen’s Grocery on Saturday to find Zuko’s beaten her there for once. He’s poking experimentally at a bunch of clementines when she sees him, tall frame hunched over to inspect the fruits more closely. “They’re not poisoned,” she says, and he frowns.

“Too soft,” he tells her. “Don’t bother.”

“Apples?”

“Probably.”

They wind their usual circuit around the store. She heckles him about eating more vegetables and he makes fun of her choice in snacks. Mrs. Chen is used to the routine by now and makes sure to bag their groceries separately, handing all the heavier bundles to Zuko despite Katara’s protests.

The air nips at her cheeks when they step out despite the bright sunlight. “Don’t you think it’s past time to start wearing a jacket?” she asks him, eyeing his outfit.

“I run warm.” 

“Don’t come crying to me when you catch a cold.”

“I’m not going to catch a cold.”

“I’m a doctor, and I’m telling you you’re going to catch a cold.”

“Is this some weird way of drumming up customers? I thought business was going well lately.”

“No, this is me being a _caring friend_ , but see if I ever do that again.”

Zuko stops dead in his tracks. Katara, distracted by the mildly entertaining sight of Mr. Hong struggling to detangle a string of twinkle lights, nearly walks right into him.

She follows his line of sight. He’s looking at the front entrance of his diner, where a lone figure clad in a long, crimson overcoat loiters. She can see the cherry-red glow of a lit cigarette held between pursed lips.

“Is that—”

“Yes. Go home, Katara.”

She frowns and forges on ahead. Zuko’s footsteps are even, a half-beat behind her.

“Zuzu,” says the woman once they approach. “Girlfriend?”

“Azula,” Zuko says. “I wasn’t expecting you until next week.”

“Hmm.” Azula gives Katara a once-over, one she returns with curiosity. There’s a decent family resemblance, though Azula reminds her more of the way Zuko had looked when he’d first moved to Stars Hollow, a cold imperiousness lurking around her mouth and in her eyes. Her upper lip curls into a sneer before she tosses the cigarette to the ground. “Had enough of slumming it yet, brother?”

“If you’re just here to antagonize me you can head back to the city,” Zuko snaps. Katara startles.

“Still throwing temper tantrums, I see.” Azula hoists her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “Are you inviting me in or not?”

His jaw works for a moment before he reaches into his pocket for the diner’s keys. He shoves the door open and enters without waiting for his sister. She makes to follow before looking back at Katara. “You’re dismissed,” she says.

The grocery bags’ handles are cutting into her fingers. Katara walks past her and into the diner.

“I have to keep my yogurt cold,” she tells Zuko, who looks momentarily caught between irritation and surprise. She rounds the counter, at which he stands with his own groceries, to open the fridge door.

“I’m not sure I care to have a discussion about our family’s affairs while a stranger is listening,” says Azula.

“Good thing Katara’s not a stranger,” Zuko replies. He folds his arms and watches as his sister takes a napkin to wipe down the seat of a barstool before settling gingerly on it. “Well?”

“There’s been some issues with Father’s will,” says Azula, with a last lingering look at her. Curiosity now plays across her expression as well, which feels more dangerous than the disdain it’s replacing; Katara focuses instead on putting yogurt tubs and milk cartons into the diner fridge.

“I thought that had nothing to do with me.”

“Don’t be naive. Uncle had one last trap set.”

She turns back to see Zuko straighten up. “Uncle?” he says, and she’s never heard his voice like this, suddenly taut and aching.

“Ah, see, I knew this would interest you.” Azula shoots her a cat-like smile, as if savoring a secret they share. “Chu thought we could assume your waiver of your rights was all-encompassing, but I knew you’d always have a soft spot for the old man.”

“Uncle’s been dead for two years,” he says, voice still unfamiliar. “What does he have to do with any of this?”

“His will had one more provision that just kicked in. It seems he anticipated your betrayal—” Zuko nearly flinches at this— “would strike you from our father’s will.”

“I don’t understand.”

Azula sighs. “He’s left you his shares in the company.”

The ensuing silence is so complete Katara is almost afraid to breathe. She watches his hands spasm against the cool formica countertop, knuckles jutting sharp along the ridge of his fists. “That’s not possible. They were given to the chairman.”

“It appears the chairman was simply a custodian. He would have held onto them if Father had left you anything in his own will. Since he didn’t, the shares pass to you.”

“And you’re here to, what? Convince me to give them to you instead?”

Azula shrugs. It’s a sinuous movement, like open flame buffeted by wind. “I’ve come to inform you. It’s thrown the Board into quite the disarray, you know. It’s not a large enough percentage to completely wreck the power structure, but it’s not nothing. You’re lucky no one knows your new phone number.” Her smiles widens. “Or unlucky, depending on how you think about it.”

“What happens if I refuse the shares?”

“They remain with the chairman. But you know Uncle. He wouldn’t have left them to you if he didn’t think you should have them.”

This strikes Zuko like a physical blow. “You didn’t know him well enough to know what he would’ve wanted,” he says, but it sounds perfunctory, unsteady.

Silence spreads again. The siblings look disinclined to disrupt it. Zuko’s jaw is clenched tight enough that Katara’s aches in sympathy.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. She looks to see Sokka’s texted her a picture of the biology classroom skeleton. Her swim plaque is clamped between its teeth. He’s captioned it: _This is why flossing’s important, kids!!!!_

She can almost hear his hysterical laughter. It sends a piercing almost-pain through her heart. She looks up to see Azula’s gaze fixed on her own brother, fathomless.

“Are you going back home tonight?” she asks her, and it’s enough to break the spell.

“Yes,” says Zuko.

Azula tilts her head. “No,” she says. “I’ve been tasked with getting your answer.”

“Why have _you_ come? You could have sent anyone else. Even Chu could have sent one of his associates.”

“Is it so strange I’d want to see my last remaining family member?”

This time, Zuko really does flinch. Azula stands and brushes invisible lint off her coat. “I’m staying at a hotel in the small town that passes for a city up here.” She slides a business card out of her purse and onto the counter. “My number, since I assume you deleted it. I’ll be back.”

The bell above the diner door jangles as she leaves. The wide windowpanes show her sliding into the back seat of a sleek black car, which speeds away as soon as her door closes. Katara turns to look at Zuko and is startled by how suddenly ill he looks.

“Sit,” she says, and he does in a daze. She rummages around his drawers to find teabags and fills an old black kettle with fresh water. 

“I owe you an explanation,” he says once it starts whistling, and she shakes her head.

“Only when you’re ready.”

“Now,” he says. She passes him a scalding mug and waits. 

He takes a sip. “When I was young,” he starts, “my mother was killed in an accident.” 

Her head snaps up to stare at him. All those times she had mentioned her own mother and he’d listened, silent and sympathetic. 

“I had always been closer to her than to my father,” he continues, “and once she was gone, that started to show. Azula adapted as well as she could, but my uncle eventually had to take me in.” There’s a flat affect to his voice that unnerves her, just a little. “After I graduated college, I started work at the family company against his wishes. I wanted to show my father I was, if not a good son, at least a competent one. But I lost a lot of time competing against Azula, who ran circles around me. Then, two years ago, Uncle passed while I was on a business trip.” His hands tighten around his mug. “I quit. My father was furious. He had recently entrusted me with a territory expansion. He threatened to cut me off completely if I didn’t finish the job, and I left anyway.”

“You just left the business behind completely?”

“Yes.” His expression eases a little around the eyes, something like wonder crossing his face instead. “I didn’t realize Uncle had been planning on putting it back in my hands.”

There’s a sudden, sick swoop in her stomach she ignores. “And you ended up here?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

He shrugs. “Car broke down and I saw the sign.”

Katara’s mind glitches for a second. “Your car broke down and you saw the diner was for sale? And you _bought_ it?”

“Uncle left me most of his assets.”

“No, I mean—that was the whole thought process?”

He shrugs again. “Yeah. And that this place is across the country from home.”

She goggles at him. “You really don’t know how to make plans, do you?”

He raises his eyes to the ceiling for a brief second. “It worked out, didn’t it?”

She shakes her head. Silence falls for the third time, this one softer, worn in at the edges. “Thanks for telling me,” she says eventually, and his gaze meets hers.

“Thanks for staying,” he says, and she grips his hand once before letting go.

(Her second relationship had been better, mostly because Haru was too sweet to ever argue with a professor in class, let alone get impatient with her when she talked politics without citing her references. He was almost _too_ sweet, always asking her about her day, always listening attentively to her gripes and complaints, always offering her a snack from their corner store or a shoulder massage when she got tired. They’d eat dinner together in the dining hall and Katara would feel silence loom on the horizon like a threat, one that could be held at bay by chattering about any number of inane, instantly forgettable topics. 

He’d been so nice that their breakup is still intensely mortifying for her. He’d sat her down in her dorm, uncharacteristically solemn, and had told her that his father was physically disabled, and that his condition was worsening. 

“I didn’t know, I’m so sorry,” she’d said, acutely aware of the fact that they’d been dating for nearly six months at this point.

“That’s alright, I never told you,” he’d replied, before explaining that because of his father, he was planning on transferring to a college closer to home. “I would never ask you to come with me,” he’d said, earnest and awkward, and she’d felt a curious sense of release, as if a burden had suddenly come to rest on her shoulders and just as suddenly disappeared, leaving her only with the sensation of loss.)

Zuko spends the next few days in a strange haze, both irritable and absentminded. He forgets parts of people’s orders, stares into space during the lunch rush, and nearly snaps at Aang when he stops by to grab a bite before heading to the animal sanctuary. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, clearly concerned, and Zuko mumbles an apology before turning back to the grill. Aang shoots Katara a worried glance. She shrugs, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling growing at the back of her mind. 

Tuesday’s schedule is lighter, with her first appointment not scheduled until 11. Katara accordingly cuts herself some slack and sleeps in till around 9. When she finally gets to the town square, her feet start heading toward the diner even as she peruses her email; she doesn’t look up until she’s almost at the door, which is why she spots Azula almost too late. 

The other woman is inside the half-empty diner, sitting in the same seat as last time. Zuko, still half-wary, is leaning toward her, hands braced on the counter in front of him. As she watches, Azula reaches into her designer tote to retrieve a slim laptop. She opens it to reveal what looks like a PowerPoint presentation, financial charts arrayed in sleek, muted colors. Zuko leans closer to examine the data. A single finger, nail painted deep red, taps at various points of interest on the pages.

Wariness leaches from Zuko’s expression, ceding ground to a familiar look of concentration. He shakes his head once and gestures at some percentages; Azula raises an eyebrow before nodding, a small, pointed smile appearing on her face. 

He looks pleased, suddenly, and keen, as if discovering muscles gone unused had not atrophied just yet, were ready still to break into a run. Katara watches him and wonders if Sokka would find something familiar in the shape of his gaze as he watches Azula. She wonders who she would be if she had lived without her brother, if she had had to travel across the country to ask him to come back to Stars Hollow, to the place where their family belonged. Then she turns around, slow, and heads to her office.

She texts Sokka a few hours later, thoughts rattling loud inside her head as unlocks her front door and takes off her coat. _Would you miss me if I weren’t around?_

_Where would u even be?_ he replies immediately. _U wouldn’t follow dad to the s pole_

 _Maybe I would!_ she types back, indignant. _What’s wrong with the Pole?_

_Nothing’s wrong w the pole, u just love it here_

_So?_

There’s a pause. _Are u trying to pick a fight?_

Katara sighs. She checks the time before pressing _Call_.

“What’s going on with you today?” says Sokka, in lieu of a greeting.

“Would you miss me if I weren’t around?” she repeats.

“Of course I would,” he says, easy. He sounds genuine, unconcerned. “Is this about Zuko?”

“She’s his sister.”

“That probably means more to you than it does to him.”

“She was awful to him.”

“Yeah, she was.”

“But it sounds like it means a lot to him, this whole company thing.”

“Maybe, but you don’t know what his decision is going to be.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And it doesn’t even really matter, right?”

“What?”

“I mean, Zuko isn’t going to just move on and forget about us if he decides to go back home,” says Sokka. “He’s not that kind of guy. He’ll still text and call and be grumpy over FaceTime.”

Katara opens her mouth, then closes it again. “If he goes back _home_?”

“Yeah, if,” Sokka says. “It’s his decision. If he chooses to leave, I’ll miss him. We all will. But if it means a lot to him, then we have to respect that, right?” 

“Right,” she says. It feels stiff. “No, I know.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I hope he stays. But we’ll all still be best friends. Come on, Katara, give the guy some credit. He won’t ditch us.”

After they hang up, Katara sits in her living room for a few minutes more. Watery sunlight fades from yellow to orange around her before settling on a deep navy. When she blinks and realizes she should turn on her lamp, she stands up and heads to the kitchen.

Her refrigerator hums quietly in its corner. She retrieves a small pot and fills it from the tap before setting it on the stove. She chops vegetables and drops soft noodles into the boiling water. She eats her dinner and scrolls through Instagram and does not let her mind stray from the images on her screen.

She sleeps poorly that night. Her floorboards are cold beneath her feet when she finally rises. She dresses herself in the dim gloom peculiar to early winter, a knitted sweater Aang had made her and a pair of fleece leggings she’d bought at the mall with Suki. _I’ll be fine_ , she thinks finally, pulling her beanie on. She locks her front door and sets off down the sidewalk. _We’ll be fine_ , she thinks as she reaches town square. The gazebo is blanketed in the twinkle lights Mr. Hong must have managed to untangle; they shut off as she watches, replaced by the cool pink light of sunrise. Her phone blinks awake when she raises it to tell her it’s just before 7:30.

She looks up and her gaze is drawn, magnetic, to the diner across the street. The regular patrons sit huddled in their booths, clutching coffee mugs or utensils, poring over newspapers or engaging in half-asleep pleasantries with their seatmates. No one’s sitting at the counter, though a lone figure stands behind it wiping at an invisible stain. As she watches, as if sensing the weight of her gaze, his eyes flick up to meet hers. He raises a hand in acknowledgement before turning around to fiddle with the coffee machine. 

Something in her chest feels tight, a band constricting around her heart. _I’ll be fine_ , she thinks, and it’s hollowed out of the conviction she’d felt even seconds prior. She draws her coat tighter around her and walks away from him anyway.

(To be fair, Katara has had practice in both leaving and being the one left behind. The sting of it, ancient history by now, has largely soothed away. The only trace of it appears in those rare instances when Aang’s hand brushes hers after one of her blue, lonely periods, usually while she’s on her third glass of wine, usually as he’s helping her home after a long night. The last time this had happened had been nearly three years ago, summer heat sticky between them as she stumbled on the sidewalk.

“Why didn’t this work out?” she remembers asking, which, _cringe_ —but Aang had taken it seriously, like the good sport he was.

“I wanted it to,” he’d replied, learned grace twisting the edges of his mouth upward. “But you had med school, and I had Peace Corps.”

But that hadn’t quite been it, she’d reflected as she undressed, as she brushed her teeth, as she flopped onto her mattress and drawn her blankets tight around her. Even if she hadn’t been accepted to med school, she still wouldn’t have wanted to follow Aang around the world. She had loved med school, had wanted it for what it was, but in her darker moments she’d been thankful for her degree if only for the fact that it got her out of her preordained slot by Aang’s side. 

Maybe that was fucked. But he’d wanted her to come with him so badly he hadn’t even asked, had simply expected she’d always be there. Her acceptance letter had given her a way of making that excruciating conversation at least a little less painful. There was something to that, wasn’t there? 

In the end, he’d been brave enough to ask her to come, and she hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask him not to go.)

She’s reviewing a patient’s medical record sometime next week when her office door opens. She’s tucked away in the examination room, which is in the far back; the automatic _ding dong_ of the door sensor still chimes loud enough for her to hear. She frowns. She doesn’t have any patients scheduled for the day; in fact, she had only come in to keep her hands busy. “I’ll be right there,” she calls anyway, tucking the file away. She checks her phone to see another swim plaque photo from Sokka before slipping it into her pocket.

“Hello,” says Zuko as soon as she enters her waiting room, and she stops in her tracks.

“Hi,” she says. All the other words she’s ever known evaporate from her mind, leaving behind a blank, bruised silence.

“Are you busy?” he asks, after enough of it passes.

“Catching up on some paperwork,” she replies. 

The windows face away from the white sunlight blanketing the parking lot. Her waiting room is dimmer, cooler. 

His thumb and forefinger are worrying at a loose thread in his sweater. Guilt swamps her, sudden and strong, at the sight of this. She fights the urge to grip his hand. 

“Are we… are we good?” he says eventually.

“Yeah,” she says, and even she can hear the strain in her tone. She hates herself for it, can’t stop her voice from spiking up an octave anyway. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

A flicker of mistrust crosses his face, almost quick enough to mask the hurt that lurks in his eyes. “Don’t do that,” he says, quiet. He takes a step forward. “Please, don’t lie. What happened? Did I—I’m sorry, if I did something, said something—”

“No,” she blurts, and she could kick herself. She had listened to his stories about his sister, his father, had watched with an aching heart as he’d struggled to extract painful truths about his childhood from his memories for her to hold between her palms. And, it seems, she hadn’t held onto those truths at all. “Zuko, no. _I’m_ sorry, I never meant—”

“Then what is it?” he says, and she wraps her cardigan tighter around herself. “There’s clearly something, and if it’s not me, then—”

She shakes her head. There’s a curious and uncomfortable mixture of guilt and longing sitting heavy in her throat. _Stay_ , she thinks, and can’t even imagine verbalizing it. All she can think of is him, his voice when his sister had mentioned their uncle, his face when he’d perused the presentation on her laptop, the odd hunger in his gaze every time he’d looked at her, his flesh and blood, after years of living so far apart. 

“Katara,” he says now. “Katara, what’s wrong?”

 _Selfish_ , she thinks, the word slick and cold, too slippery to get ahold of. “It’s nothing,” she manages, and exhaustion weighs her words down. “Really, I’m—I’m sorry I worried you. I’ve just been busy, and I figured you had a lot on your mind anyway, what with Azula visiting.”

He looks at her for a long moment. She forces herself to meet his gaze. “So this was about Azula,” he says, toneless.

She takes the plunge. “How have things been with her?”

A series of emotions run across his face, too quick for her to catch. “Fine. She needs my response within the next few days.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” The austere line of his mouth softens slightly at the corner. “My uncle, he… maybe Azula’s right. Maybe he left them to me for a reason. He knows I always regretted not doing better at the company.”

“So you’re thinking about it,” she says, and hates the cold that edges into her voice.

“Yeah,” he says. Then he fixes her with a piercing glance, hot and curious. “What do you think?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. What do you think I should do?”

She bites her lip. _Stay_ , she thinks again. “I think you loved your uncle very much,” she says. “And you knew him very well. I think you should ask yourself if you want what he would have wanted.”

He frowns. “That’s not… exactly the answer I was looking for.”

“What?”

“I guess I thought you’d have a stance.”

She crosses her arms. “What stance did you want me to have?”

“It’s not like I wanted you to pick one side or the other. I just thought you would _pick_ one.”

It feels like she’s being shunted into a corner. “What do you want me to say?” she says, and it comes out terser than she expected. “Go?”

His expression darkens. “Is that what you want to say?”

“Why do you need me to answer this question for you? Don’t you want to make this decision on your own?”

“I’m not asking you to _make_ the decision for me, I—”

“Well, that’s what it feels like!”

“So you think I should just listen to what I think my family wants from me, is that it?”

“If that’s what’s most important to you, then yes!”

“If that’s what’s most important to me,” he repeats. His laugh is bitter, humorless. “Yeah, okay.”

Cold air sweeps in as he opens the door and leaves. She stands there for a few seconds more before sinking into a chair. _What the fuck just happened?_ she thinks, before covering her face with her hands.

A bleak silence freezes between them over the next week. Katara studiously avoids the diner. After a few days of no response to Aang and Sokka’s memes in the groupchat from either of them, Suki sends Katara a series of question marks that she also ignores. Mrs. Chen gives her a calculating look over her bagged groceries on Thursday afternoon but says nothing. Katara loses herself in the flurry of early winter patients, writing prescriptions for flus and coughs. The sun starts rising later and setting earlier; she often walks home in moonlight, shivering and thinking of warm cups of coffee.

She wakes up from a nap that weekend to her phone ringing. She checks the time and the caller ID in quick succession: it’s nearly 8pm and Sokka is calling.

“What,” she says, burrowing deeper into her mattress. 

“Are you heading over to help tomorrow?” he asks. 

“What are you talking about,” she replies.

“You know what I’m talking about. He’s packing up.”

“Sokka, I just woke up and you’re not making any sense.”

There’s a pause. “Didn’t Zuko tell you he’s leaving?”

She bolts upright. “He’s _what?”_

There’s another pause, this one long enough for Katara to register her heartbeat, thundering in her ears. “Okay, what is going on with you two?” asks Sokka. 

“He’s leaving?” she repeats. “When? When did he decide to go?”

“He gave me a call yesterday. I think he’s planning to leave the day after tomorrow, actually. It seemed pretty sudden, but I guess it’s urgent?”

“The day after tomorrow?” She feels like she’s going to throw up. Her heart is still racing, thudding painfully against her ribs. “The _day after tomorrow?_ ”

“Katara, what’s going on?” he says. It’s his bossy voice. It always reminds her of the time she’d accidentally shattered a glass vase when she was seven while their dad had been at work and he’d taken over cleanup immediately before she could cry. It’s always been both incredibly irritating and soothing to hear. She takes a deep breath.

“We… had an argument,” she says, grudging.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Him leaving.”

“Him—hold on.” There’s a quick rustling noise before her phone starts beeping with a FaceTime request. She accepts it to see Sokka frowning, deep in thought. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t really know.” She slumps back to lie down again. “He asked me what I thought about him moving and I said I couldn’t make the decision for him, and he got mad and left.”

“Why did you say you couldn’t make the decision for him?”

She gapes at him. “Wha—that’s what you said!”

“When did I say that?”

“You said if he chooses to go back home we have to respect that, and that he’ll still always be our friend!”

Sokka’s frown deepens. “Katara, I think you should go talk to him.”

Her stomach feels hollowed out. “What? Why?”

“Look, just practically speaking, I said if he decides to go home, that’s a decision he’s made that we should respect. But it sounds like he hadn’t made a decision at all when he went to talk to you. It sounds like he was asking for your input.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her mind is both whirling and curiously blank. “So?” she manages.

“Just go talk to him,” he repeats. “I don’t know exactly what you guys are thinking, but it sounds like you’re on different pages.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

She hangs up. Panic, maybe, threatens to choke her as she tugs on her shoes and coat. She locks up hurriedly and heads down the sidewalk. The moon has risen already, casting blue shadows over rooftops and trees. Her breath is white fog ahead of her, too fast.

Once she gets to the town square, she can see that the diner’s windows are dark. The only light in the building is coming from the apartment unit above. She lets herself into the building with her key and slips behind the counter to head up. Her footfalls are heavy and uneven against the creaky stairs. 

She raps on his door. Her knuckles sting from the impact. From behind the wood, she hears muffled music pause, followed by obscure shuffling noises.

The door swings open. The sight of the apartment beyond is like a physical blow: belongings half-packed into cheap cardboard boxes, familiar clothes hastily folded into battered suitcases. Her gaze swings up to his face; the shuttered expression there knocks air out of her lungs.

“You’re going?” she manages, and his grip tightens on his doorknob.

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

His eyes are impassive. She’s never had more trouble reading him than she does now. “I was going to tell you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Sokka says you’re leaving the day after.”

“Yeah.”

“So you thought one day notice was enough?”

“You seemed okay being less involved in the process.”

Incredibly, anger flares to life in the pit of her stomach. “Don’t.” His face doesn’t change; she shoves past him into the apartment before she can do something stupider than coming in the first place.

It looks like he’s halfway through packing up the living room. She can see books stacked haphazardly in the corner, his bookcase looking mournful and empty against the wall. A blanket Aang knitted last year is still draped over his armchair. Sokka’s habit of picking up random knick-knacks has leached into all of their homes; on Zuko’s shelves, it manifests as a few cheesy snowglobes from random airports, plus an intricate-looking hunk of coral she remembers him finding a couple autumns ago. It embeds something sharp in her chest to see these things scattered around the apartment, lonely and small without Zuko’s other belongings flanking them.

She turns around to face him again. He’s not looking at her, gaze fixed on his kitchen counter. “You were really going to leave without telling me?”

His mouth tightens. “I told you, I was going to text you tomorrow.”

“Bullshit.”

He just shrugs. “Fine.”

She wants to shake him. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Wrong with _me_? You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep at 8:30 on some random night, after a week of no contact, right in the middle of me packing.”

“Is that what this is? You’re pissed I didn’t _text you_ after you barged into my office—”

“I came to ask you for your help making a difficult decision! You’re the one who decided we weren’t even close enough friends for me to ask for your advice!”

She blinks. “You—Is that what you really think I thought?”

He glares at the opposite wall for a moment before finally closing his front door. “Look, I’m—sorry you had to see that conversation with Azula,” is what he ends up saying.

It’s like whiplash. “Azula? What does she have to do with any of this?”

He finally looks at her. His gaze is crackling; bizarre, heady relief slides through her at the familiar expression, at how easily she can decipher his anger. “I know she’s not… a great person,” he begins, and she bites back a snort. “But the way she acted, that’s not—that’s not a reflection on me. She thinks I was slumming it, fine. But that’s not what I think. Her expectation that I come running back to take my share of the business, that’s not what’s making me go. I’m doing this on my own, for my own reasons.”

“You think I don’t know that? Zuko, I know you’re not her.” The set of his shoulders loosens. It does little to quell the anger that still pulses through her, inexorable and tidal. “I just don’t know what your reasons are, why you would choose to go. Why would you not even _tell_ me?”

“How could I tell you? How could I tell you, when our last conversation had included you telling me you have no opinion on me leaving?”

“I couldn’t make that decision for you! I couldn’t tell you what you should do! What kind of person would I be, if I dictated a decision as important as this?”

“I wanted your _opinion_ ,” he says, nearly shouts. “Why are you equating these two things? Can’t I ask you what you think without that automatically meaning you’re telling me to do something?”

She can’t think of a response. “Why are you going?” she asks instead. “Why would you suddenly uproot yourself like this?”

“The company shares—”

“Could stay with the chairman, I thought. Did you miss working for your family? Was this just not the life you wanted for yourself? Was it ever?”

“I loved my time here,” he says, and the sincerity of it cracks his voice. “I loved it,” he repeats, “but once you realize you’re not—not building a _life_ , it gets hard to stay.”

“What was wrong with this life?” Her body feels hot all of a sudden. Her fingers are trembling. “You have the diner, everyone in town loves you even if you won’t admit it. You have _us_ , your friends. Weren’t we enough?” 

“It was. It _was,_ Katara. But I—it’s not like I’m going to disappear forever. I won’t forget about the friends I’ve made here. I can’t. But I just need… I need some time.”

“Time? Time away from here, you mean.” There’s something intimately painful about the look on his face now. It’s hard to watch. She can’t take her eyes off him. “Does that mean you’ll come back?”

“I don’t know.” He looks hollowed out, suddenly, older and exhausted. He’s still by the door, but now comes to sit at his tiny table, half-covered with the debris of his life. His elbow rests near a can opener, some spare change. “I wanted you to tell me to stay,” he says, and her gaze snaps up. “That’s why I need time, and why I didn’t tell you I was going. This is a good opportunity to… get over you.” 

She can’t breathe. His eyes finally meet her own. A wry sort of smile crosses his face. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear,” he says. “I’ll get my head on straight after a few months.”

There’s a loud, rushing noise in her ears. “Stay,” she says.

His smile fades into silence. “What?”

“Stay,” she says. The weight of the word pulls her across the room until she’s standing by his chair. “Zuko, please stay,” she says again, and then she’s leaning down to kiss him.

He’s rigid beneath her for one, two heartstopping moments before his hands wind through her hair. His mouth is soft on hers, almost hesitant; she grips his shoulders tighter to hide the tremor in her fingers. She lets her tongue slide against his a split second before he stands, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Then his palms are warm and heavy on her hips as he tugs her closer to kiss her in earnest. Something in her chest is falling apart, or maybe coming together, or maybe just beating fast enough to nearly hurt. 

“Okay,” he says, once they finally break apart. “Okay, alright. I’m staying.”

She presses her forehead against his. “Good,” she says. He’s warm everywhere he touches her; one of his fingers has settled on the strip of skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her sweatpants. Quiet hums between them, easy and content.

Eventually, he says, “Now I have to unpack.”

“Life is really difficult,” she replies, solemn. 

He’s going to have to tell his sister he won’t be going back with her after all. They’ll have to sort out the shares, make sure there aren’t any other legal hurdles to clear. There are possessions to reorganize, books to set back on shelves, clothes to tuck back into their proper places. 

“Want pancakes?” she asks him, and he gives her a surprised look.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. C’mon, make me some pancakes.”

His smile is broad, too sudden to hide. “You’re a brat, you know that?” he says, heading for the stairs anyway, and she follows him all the way down, laughing.


End file.
